So, a Christian, a Jew, and a Muslim sit down for tea...

No joke. It was a day after work last week, and a Christian (our medical officer), a Jew (myself), and a Muslim (our lab technologist) sat down for tea. We plus Marion (the study physician and my Fogarty twin) all live together in the Kiboga project house, for 2-4 nights each week. At first I thought this arrangement was purely practical, but increasingly I appreciate how the house brings together different people to form a diverse community. In fact, the house is one of my favorite aspects of the job. I love coming home to socialize with my coworkers, eat their chapattis, battle darkness with fire and wax, and hear the latest translations of Ugandan local television news. (Thanks, Marion - I am especially grateful for the chapattis!)

Last week's conversation is a good example of how this house provides experiences I just wouldn't have in my little bubble in Kampala:

First we discussed the composition of the Earth. The lab technologist pointed out that it is commonly described as 2/3 water, so it's strange that all this worldly water does not slosh around the middle or fly off the surface. I took the opportunity to brush off some old knowledge on gravitational forces, ocean currents, and the hot boiling lava inside Mother Earth. Easy.

Second we turned our gaze up to the stars and wondered what else is up there. The Christian was always told that Heaven is in the sky, but he asked what that means - among the stars, or beyond them? And could he get there in a spaceship? We pondered this quietly for a moment. Not so easy. Then the Muslim shared that in Islam there are 7 Heavens, each with a different gate and gatekeeper. Are they the same as the Christian Heaven? Would these 2 friends be able to meet each other there; and, if so, behind which gate? More food for thought. After a while, I suggested that maybe Heaven is a place inside all of us. (Judaism is not so concrete on the afterlife. The Book of Life keeps us accountable in the present, but what happens next is very much based on personal belief.) My proposition was the most foreign so far, but the others considered it for a minute. Finally we agreed to put this complicated idea to rest and move on to "simpler" topics.

And so we arrived at G-d; basic questions like who He/She is and how to find Him/Her. The Christian wanted to discuss G-d as the Omnipresent. His religious teachings said that G-d is everywhere but impossible to localize. With genuine uncertainty, he asked, if localization is impossible - does that really mean that G-d is nowhere? I had no good answer; likening G-d to electrons seemed awesome and, at the same time, far too prone to misinterpretation. The Muslim wanted to discuss G-d as the Almighty. How much control do we really have over our own lives? And if we keep asking these questions but G-d does not intend for us to find the answers, will we ever know the Truth? Again, I just listened.

This got me thinking about faith, and how that is just it - unending belief in a Truth that you may never know. Faith is funny. While inherently irrational and deserving of suspicion, I have seen it act as a great force of positive action in Uganda. For example, irrational belief in good outcomes has motivated many of my colleagues and patients to work against the odds. Driven by the strength of their beliefs, they invest in hopeless cases and save lives that others have long assumed over. Faith has basically wrought miracles before my eyes. I'm not sure exactly what religion I ascribe to, what constitutes the Heavens, or where G-d can be found - but I do believe in faith.

Just then, we heard scratching and squawking at the front door. Since we weren't on the brink of Total Truth, Divine Discovery, Absolute Epiphany, or any other regular noun requiring capitalization, I got up to see what it was. Maybe it could help. A message from G-d?! A clue to the Truth??! Maybe, but I think not. It was just another lost and wandering chicken from the farm next door.

For reasons unclear to me, the chickens do this a lot. One after another, they will leave their chicken paradise, with all the cushy nests and nutritious grain a bird could dream of; meander across the road; and trap themselves in our barren yard, with nothing but a collapsing chicken coop and a bed of dusty greens. Some may chalk this up to chicken stupidity - and yes, you are probably right - but, just for fun, I want to give these chickens more credit than that.

Crossing the road to see what's on the other side, after all, may not be as lame as I used to think. All of us who walk into murky waters and ask questions with no certain answers seem to be doing just that! With a whole new (and perhaps delusional) fondness, I watched that stupid bird peck our dirt. Then she must have decided to go home, because she ran into a few concrete wall dead-ends, dusted herself off, and finally pecked back to and out of the gate. So graceful. Farewell, Intrepid Hen!

I do appreciate this house, and sometimes it really does feel like a home - but this ain't no Heaven, apparently not even for a chicken. (Actually, that's reassuring; Heaven should have regular power supply, potable water, dark chocolate, and no mosquitoes.) Still, like that chicken, I think it's worth crossing the road to find out for oneself. And I'm so very glad to be here, across a huge watery 10,000-mile road from home - making friends, asking big questions, finding faith, trying to do good work, feeling small but empowered, and generally enjoying life - with a bar of dark chocolate I packed for the journey.